Hyper Focus
by AlternateShadesofBlue
Summary: Season 8 fic. Harvey realizes his feelings for Donna but because of her denial of feeling something with their kiss, he's unsure if she's feeling it too. Under the guise of Mike and Rachel's departure, they lean on each other until building feelings become too much for him to hold back. Borrowed a bit from promos.
1. Part 1

The realization landed like a knockout punch. Another life moment that defined him. The blinding spotlight demanding hyperfocus, when everything else faded into darkness. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

The center of over a dozen years worth of one-night-stands and failed relationships revolved around _one person_.

 _Donna._

Piles of mixed up pieces and suddenly the right piece slipped into place. An obvious piece. One that matched and he'd been handed time and time again.

She was his _more_. His constant. His _everything_. Something different than the rest. And maybe he'd always known. From that first self-assured handshake, to taking over every inch of his work-life, to becoming the one woman he could never lose, and the only one he could fully trust.

Everyone had alluded to it over the years. Jessica. Mike. Louis had used it as a weapon. Paula kept saying it and he thought it was more psychobabble kindling thrown into a dry pit.

But then Scottie, the one he'd once considered the finish line poured the ignitor. Out of nowhere, a mushroom cloud bursting. Clarity. And suddenly he saw the flames. Maybe like the rest always had.

Had she?

If she doesn't, she's still by his side. Supporting him. Maybe feeling guilt for tearing him from a time-passing comfort in the arms of someone all wrong. She's his loyal side-kick, all business and sleek and sexy grace. There with a pen, a document, or pre-planned solutions, and she's not even paid to be his savior anymore. Anticipating him when he's full of anticipation wanting her.

He tries forgetting about it.

First while helping Jessica with time and miles between them.

Then he returns to the wedding and they're arm in arm. Vows that he would've brushed off before, suddenly _mean_ something. Looks between them tighten a hold that's trying to force a change.

She's back to doing it again, slipping in at his perfect time of loneliness. And instead of all the times he's hardened against her, he only wants to fold into her arms. Feel her touch while she moves with him, even if dancing is only a partial substitute for what he really craves.

That night he knows. He's not getting away from this. His mind has caught up with that spotlight and there's a pinpointed hunt inside him. One he'll never end without self-destruction or success.

When she finally slips from his arms and out of sight that night, he realizes his world has wrapped up in her like a mess of finely tangled thread. Clarity is lost in all the circular twists and knots that include every moment and feeling that makes them up. She almost makes him forget the blindsided outer messes that surround them. Mike leaving. And the other current threat that sits across from him.

Robert Zane.

They're maneuvering behind the jovial jabs. He'll lose some of his own chips if the situation calls. His name second, or a change in his office. He'll even gamble Louis because he knows the man would take the power shift in their current predicament.

But there's a third of their core that isn't responsible, and the most vulnerable. He's not taking a chance with her life. He's securing it before it's even challenged.

 _Donna stays where she's at._

 _Donna's COO and that's non-negotiable._

 _I want it in writing._

Robert does half-hearted protests but agrees. Maybe he senses Harvey's unwillingness to back down. Or maybe it's a rare courtesy to his daughter since they're best friends and Rachel would fight too.

The most likely explanation: He's pretending it's a fight in order to use his compromise as a bargaining chip. He doesn't care. She's staying where she is.

Even though the idea of falling back to senior partner in his old office with his new secretary sitting outside at _that_ desk brings a sour taste of old panic. He'd fucked the treatment for that old disease, so he'd need to focus on a new solution. Her a permanent fixture in his personal life. Trading desk, office, and friendship for office, friendship, and lover.

Does she want it too? Despite saying she didn't weeks before? He catches her in the hotel lobby, other guests scarce.

They small talk about the night. Guests, dancing, Louis's abundance of tears. Shared heaviness overseeing Mike and Rachel off. Him talking to Robert.

"Are we going to make it through this?" she asks.

His hands slip into his pockets. "I figured you'd be the one to tell me we would."

"We're both still here. And your over-emotional co-partner," she teases.

He frowns, watching her. Hoping she'll wear the answers to heal his turmoil. "Except we're up against more than ever."

"Then we'll lean on each other more," she answers easily.

He smiles. "So midnight and 6 am phone calls?"

She sighs. "You're going to make me regret this, aren't you?"

His smile fades. He doesn't want to go but the night is dying. "Can I give you a ride? You could come over for a drink."

Her brow raises. "You didn't have enough already?"

"No. I'm still lucid after that discussion with Robert, and this isn't the night to go light."

"That bad?"

"Come on, Donna."

"This is heading into 3 am need," she complains.

His eyes dart away, pushing down the prospect. "I get it. We're both exhausted. Forget I said anything."

Silence falls between them. And then she sidles closer to him. "My place. Not yours."

* * *

He doesn't want to leave her that night. He wants to use the excuse he's too drunk, which maybe he is. He wants to be in her arms. Next to her in bed, even if just to wake up touching like some cheap thrill in a chick flick.

He wants to catch clues to see what she really felt after the kiss. Or what feelings set them off in the first place.

Life is blurry when he picks up his coat on the walk he'd made more than once before, only this time his feet force themselves through sludge to her door. He catches his footing when he feels how dizzy the walk makes him.

"You're drunk," she says.

"Thank god."

"You shouldn't go like this."

No, he _should_ go, he just doesn't want to. "I _always_ go like this."

"Ray isn't here to make sure you make it back."

"I'll _handsomely_ tip a cab driver." He thinks the choice of _handsomely_ is amusing.

"I have a couch. Stay."

Bless her. And those rolled straps on her back that would be so easy to tear from her body. "Okay."

"I'll...go get bedding."

He catches her wrist. "Donna. Can we?" He shrugs, not sure what he's asking. He needs his world secure by her. And somehow glances and gestures aren't enough anymore. He frowns, a tilt of his head and a shrug backing up the words.

Her lips turn down, eyes scanning his face. She pauses a second before she takes him in her arms and he envelops the gift. Arm around her waist and a flat palm high on her back. Allowing his head to turn into her this time. Raspberries and almond blossom; the smell had intoxicated more than the drinks all night.

She smooths hands over his back. Reassuring. Needed. He wants to sink into her. Like she's the world's most comfortable landing place. But 'just friendly' flashes in neon lights in his head.

"Um, Harvey? Is all this about Mike leaving? Or something Robert said?"

He forces himself to pull back, sobering realization that maybe he'd done too much. Eyes trace her face and lock on hers. "All the changes. Thanks for being here, Donna."

She bends her head, a slight lift of her brow and pop of her hip. "It's my apartment."

He chuckles, lips pursing. He knows she's exhausted. So he lets her go. Appreciating she's just a doorway away instead of miles and pillars upon pillars of concrete and glass between what they were and what he wants them to be.

* * *

He wakes the next morning from the sounds of movement in her kitchen. He passes through morning rays of light from the window to follow the sound. She's wrapped in a terry robe, hair piled in a towel on her head.

When she's aware of him and turns, he tries to break his own awareness of how naked she might be underneath.

"Feeling the effects of last night?" She hands over a coffee.

He shrugs, breathing in vanilla steam that wafts of her. "You have no idea how much." Only he's not talking about the hangover. He eyes her over his cup.

"I have painkillers...and waffles?"

"Sure." As long as it's not Poptarts.

She opens her freezer and pulls out a box. "You going into work?"

It's Saturday, but he's been gone and needs to get ahead of Robert Zane. His other priority is her. "I should."

"If you want to shower here—"

Her effects on him this morning make him think better of it. "No. I'll go home."

"Oh. Okay."

He tries to get a read on her but fails.

"You think you'll need me today?" she asks.

"I could catch you up over dinner?"

"Dinner?"

He needs the excuses. "Mike and Rachel flew out today. I thought maybe after what you said last night?"

"Sure. Of course, Harvey."

* * *

His first order of business when he returns home is relieving some of the tension she's wound up. He's sure he's breaking some unspoken code that rubbing one out while thinking of each other is frowned upon. Forbidden doesn't shake the urge. It heightens the need.

He absolves his guilt in the knowledge that his visuals are nothing more than snapshots. Missed opportunities of bare skin untouched.

Her hair styled to the side revealing the intersection of her neck and shoulder for him to devour. Plunging backs on gowns where he could almost map her entire spine. Slits that tempted eyes and hands into shadows. The parting of rich colored lips. Bending in V necklines over his desk in near-daily repetition.

All adding up to years of missed opportunity and an expanse of milky and freckled skin left in view for hands and lips to brush. And curves and crevices for his groin to get lost into. The release rids what's about to spill over, but doesn't delve far enough to clear his thoughts.

The office that day feels like a duller version of the last decade and a half of his life all rolled into half a dozen hours. Without Mike or her he realizes the shortened day feels double the length. By Monday they'll be overrun with changes, and maybe there should be some comfort in the silence before the storm.

* * *

He picks her up at seven. She'd offered to meet him but he's not turning down the opportunity for this to seem more like a date. He takes her to Boulud Sud which she protests is too much for a casual night. He makes up a half-truth about promising the owner he'd stop in.

Her dress is no disappointment in the distraction department. Flirtier than her office wear. Lower cut with a shorter hemline. Black and so slinky he thinks he could have it off in ten seconds flat. He's been doing that. Planning the fastest method of ridding her of her outfits in case the emergency presents itself.

Their conversation is easy, maybe easier than it's ever been.

 _He enjoys her company._ Perhaps the most ridiculous realization he's ever had because their entire relationship has encompassed that fact. And yet the dawning of the information is that he doesn't with many others. With no one else in the same way.

Able to tease about any subject, make light of what's heavy in ease as if they're written by a perfected script. How he can breathe, slip into the covers her existence creates after the world's shittiest day to let go.

"You've barely mentioned any of it." She sips her second glass of wine, studying him.

He bites a smirk, enjoying her intense focus. "Any of what?"

"You can't hide from your feelings and problems forever. It'll affect your health. Which reminds me, I need to tell your secretary to schedule you for a yearly physical."

Even a wall away she's still managing his life like a wife. "This is better than dwelling on the rest," he evens, referencing the night.

There's a stare off between them, challenging each other to address the resting subtext.

She caves, shifting food on her plate with her fork. "It's _your_ untimely death."

Their normal is riddled with an undercurrent he can't fully place. In some ways, they're closer than ever before. This understanding that they can't risk each other. But he senses she's afraid of too far now, a newly formed broadened line between them in a bold permanent stroke.

Because of the kiss? Paula? He doesn't like her carrying apology or regret.

He sighs, half in a groan of how she gets to him. "Zane wants more than his name at the top."

Her eyes go wider. "Managing partner?"

He nods.

She falls back in her chair. "Well, that puts both of us in jeopardy."

"No." He shakes his head.

"He knows my loyalty to you—"

"I got it in writing." His voice softens. "You're staying where you are."

She surprises him when her lips fall apart, her head shaking. "Why would you negotiate with that?"

"You know why."

"You're putting yourself in debt to him in the middle of a negotiation." Her hands ball in fists on the linen table.

"He's the one that would lose something without you."

She's not meeting his eyes. "That's not what this is about."

"It's what it's about to me." There's a softness in his voice that slips into place, an aura of calmness he feels when she's upset. He'll take every one of his cares and stressors and chuck them away to become intent on her feelings. He almost smiles because for someone like him it's the most out of place thing. When he realizes how many years he's overlooked this clue he fiddles with the napkin on his lap, hiding his thoughts from her with a shift of his stare.

"You could go back to named senior partner and we wouldn't…"

He grimaces. "I know."

Her expression seems to be fighting something, blank with barely repressed shifts. Her eyes turn glassy. "Can we...call it a night?"

He acquiesces, not completely sure why she seems so upset. He pays the check, and she's five steps ahead when they leave.

She's striding away into the heated air wisping in the night, despite the waiting car. He signals to Ray to do a drive while he follows her, knowing she'll feel the walk in those heels before they're too far.

He catches up to her, fingers circling her arm. "Hey, what the hell's wrong?"

"Did you become a martyr when I wasn't looking?"

He stops, and she's forced to join him, her eyes narrowing on his still attached fingers. He lets them slip away, falling empty to his side.

"You already lost a girlfriend for me, Harvey. You're not losing your career for mine too."

His face tenses. "And I risked you further than I should have in that situation. I'm not doing it again."

Her shoulders fall. "Why?"

Her question lifts him back to a night in the past. With fuzzy declarations that nearly tore them apart. But this time her eyes aren't wide with hope and temptation. A growing fire is circling between them, and her demeanor is throwing the flames. He's cautious about borrowing from that night, because he doesn't fully understand his answer now either.

"I told you I'd always protect you. That it's different when it comes to you. This is me living up to that."

The third unspoken declaration from that night, also ending in the word 'you', hangs above them, it's sharp blade's edge swinging back and forth and ready to cut deep. They're locked on each other, each carrying their own versions of answers to unspoken conversations.

Her head slants. "You're doing it at the risk of everything we both spent over a third of our lives working for."

"Maybe my endgame is looking different on the other side."

She disengages her eyes, some hope between them both falling. She stands a little taller. "Harvey, you can't give up your dreams just because Mike left."

"That's not what's happening here."

Air escapes her in a rush, her expression growing frantic. "Don't you get it? I didn't want to get to the top to be side-by-side with Robert Zane. I wanted to be there with you." She falls back after the words come out.

Their chests match in their exaggerated rise and fall. He realizes this isn't back to normal. And they're not fucking okay.

He wants to back her against the wall. In the center of the busy night around them. Out in public. Lips erasing that regret that shines in her eyes. Taking every negative emotion between them and magically casting it into lust. He'd handle that want here too except for knowing she'd point out the hotel only steps away.

Before he can act she's steps apart from him again.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

"I'm walking home."

"I'm not letting you. Ray's here."

She spins around. "Letting me?"

"I just meant that...Why are you angry with me?"

"Because I just…" She pulls in a labored breath, expression contorting. "They're gone. And I'm hating all the changes too." Her arm slices the air and slaps at her side.

He closes the feet between them. "I know. But we're both still here. So lean, like you said." He lowers his head to meet her eyes, giving her a single nod.

She answers with the same, lips pursed and emotion spilling her mascara.

"Come on. Let's find Ray and drive you home."

"Harvey?"

He looks up from his phone.

"I don't want you to give up managing partner."

He nods. Wondering why it seems to bother her more than it's bothering him.

* * *

Their return to the office on Monday seems to have temporarily reset them. She's focused on the task of helping him acclimate while watching his back like his personal lifeguard, and he's appreciating her with distance since the previous attempts at getting more personal haven't been so smooth.

Despite her constancy back into the perfect and supportive business best friend, he sees slips. Mike's ' _If she had feelings for you she should tell you before it's too late'_ and other comments before leaving make his awareness of her unspoken mannerisms linger in their moments together.

Soft smiles, shy looks, glances to his lips. He wonders if he's reading too much, or if they've always been there and he never read them before.

His mission becomes time. The best odds are always with the most chances. So excuses for time with her shape into his priority. An unfair advantage knowing the reasons she'll accommodate the requests. He despises change, and his life is avalanched with them.

He begins to test her.

Too much scotch. Alone and late nights. Flirting. Lingering looks. She smiles back but forever goes home. Back to routine. Back to normal. Even though nothing will ever be normal for him.

They start having dinner together several times a week. Using nights they used to share with Mike and Rachel in respecting corners to avoid appearing as double dates. The other half of their shared evenings are hidden under the fighting for senior partner excuse, even though they usually wrap up that discussion in fifteen minutes max.

They get more accustomed to each other's spaces again. She has a favorite chair in his office. A lone armchair, as if she's the queen in his private quarters. Untouchable and with chair arms as boundaries. He never lets anyone else sit in that chair. Taking a seat in it himself if it looks like they might. It's pointless and possessive but all his previous outlets have slipped away.

They're closer to a team than they've been since before he promoted her. Besides the chasm in his bed his life is more whole than it's been in a long time, even though her words of wanting more keep circling his chest.

* * *

He walks into her office one day, waiting just inside her door while she's on the phone.

She slams it down. "Dammit."

"What?"

"Which associate can I bribe for personal minionship?"

His brow lifts.

"The company I hired to help me install a new ceiling fan for my bedroom has to cancel. It's being delivered on Sunday and will sit in my living room for another week."

"Ceiling fan?"

"Last summer I nearly died in the heat wave. I'm _not_ going through that again."

His teeth slide over his lip. "I could do it."

She walks over to her open door, looking out. "Seriously, who should I ask?"

He stands a bit taller, head cocked. "I graduated almost top of my class at Harvard and you don't think I can handle some wiring and screws?"

Her brow arches. "You really want my answer to that?"

"I"ll come over. You delegate. I do the dirty work." He smirks.

She bites back a smile. "Fine. 10 am. And I don't want any whining about your shoulders hurting the next day."

"I box, Donna. My upper body strength is excellent."

She smiles, then shyly turns away.

He grins at the blush he imagines she's hiding. He's never been happier to do someone a blue-collar favor.

* * *

He arrives with coffee and a bag of pastries in hand, wearing jeans with a T-shirt. She opens the door dressed in similar attire, only her top being a white tank with thin straps. She looks him over and seems to approve.

They eat while drinking their coffees. She shows him the breaker box in the closet, and then leads him to her room.

They stop just inside the doorway, the memories hitting him from the last time they'd been here together. He feels a tightening in his gut and chest, both in strangeness of the moment and memories stirring the visuals. The decor looks mostly the same. He shifts his focus, but not before wondering if she feels it too.

She has a drop cloth spread over her bed and on the floor under the center of the carpet. He steps over, inspecting her old fixture on the ceiling.

"Here's the ladder," she offers.

"We could just move the bed. It's easier to work standing on a bigger surface."

"No, Harvey."

"Why not? I could easily do it."

"Because I have _things_...stored under there."

His eyes lock on hers, slightly widening at the realization of what she might be implying. Things she doesn't want him seeing. Photos? Lingerie? A mess? Sex toys?

He looks away, scratching at the heat on the back of his neck. "The ladder's probably better anyway."

They get started. She lays all the pieces of the new unit on the drop cloth on the bed. She has detailed instructions she's gotten from somewhere, and she's listing them to him as he uninstalls her old fixture. Things are going smoothly and they seamlessly work together as a team. Her delegating and him following.

He's nearly dying with the rising hot air in the stagnant room. Weighing the wrath of her prudence against the way she'd turned away at the mention of his body, his ego wins. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it somewhere on the floor. He feigns disinterest while eyeing her reaction.

Her eyes do a quick scan and lock on his face as if looking anywhere else would risk her safety. "Feeling like a true handyman I see. Will I be seeing butt-crack too?"

"It has to be 90 degrees up here."

"Hence the fan. And I'm not complaining. It helps with the man-slave concept."

"Am I fitting the fantasy?" His brow waggles.

"Calm down, Casanova. You might not campaign for the position if you knew my demands."

He begs to differ but gets back to work anyway.

She lifts the new unit to him and he instantly sees a problem.

"I can't hold this up and connect it at the same time, Donna."

"The guy I talked to didn't mention that."

"Well, that's because that's a piece of paper and this is hands-on experience."

"Shit. I don't have a second ladder."

"Just climb up next to me."

"It's only rated for 250 pounds."

"Get up here. We'll be fine." He holds out a hand.

"You know I know kick-ass lawyers if you're wrong and I fall and break bones."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not letting that happen. It's just for a few minutes."

He steps over toward the one side, and she climbs next to him. He realizes instantly this isn't going to be as easy as he thought, both in trying to balance and invading each other's proximity.

"Are you wiring or holding it up?" She's picked the heaviest ceiling fan ever in existence, and he's not sure even he can hold it long enough to wire.

She must deduce the same because she quickly picks wiring. He holds up the fixture and she shifts the last inch or two to press her side into his chest. He swallows. Knowing he's sweaty and her tank is thin.

When she raises her arms the ladder shakes.

"Shit! Harvey!"

He's stuck arms in air but he braces his body wide. "It's okay. Small movements." He forces a smile and nods, their eyes locking. It occurs to him the ridiculousness of his thoughts of kissing her up here. They'd surely end up in an ER somewhere and he'd never hear the end of it. Her eyes scan his face first, and it makes his mouth dry. They drop down and her mouth falls open, and he's not sure if it's from his bare chest or the distance below.

The first break in contact also comes from her, and she pays renewed attention to her notes with a diagram for the wiring while he balances the monstrosity over his shoulders.

He's aware of every shift. Her side pressed into him. Feet shuffling. Breast brushing his chest. His occupied arms save him from doing something he shouldn't. And he's thankful the tightening in his groin is lower than her eyeline can see.

"You think you could move a little faster, there?" he asks, muscles near shaking.

"I don't want to cause a fire, Harvey."

"I'd like to use my arms again."

"What happened to boxing?" she teases.

"Just get it done, Donna."

She finally finishes up, and they take turns screwing the unit into her ceiling, adding blades, then finishing with the light bulbs and light cover.

Getting down from the ladder is a joint effort on their part. Each step down makes the unit less sturdy, so they take turns with steps. He lets her take most of the early ones, using his hand to step her descend. Towards the end her front brushes against his waist and groin and he has to hold back a groan at the thoughts it creates. He'll happily visit hell for those thoughts, though ill-timed.

When they're both on safe ground, she picks up the remote. "You want to do the honors?"

"It's your electrical job. But I should probably switch on the breaker first." He bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to stare at the wet spots on her tank.

Her hand goes to her mouth, taking his jab in stride. He leaves to the box and returns, presenting his palm in effect.

She presses some buttons and it lights up, the blades spinning. He has to admit she's got amazing decor taste. Elegant, with brushed nickel curved blades, and an enclosed sconce with glass tiles accenting the surround of the light. It's a touch modern but classic all at once.

He puts his palm under the air. "Seems like it will help with the heat in here."

She's biting her lip, and he can't tell if it's to hide amusement or a comeback. "Okay, Mister Dirty Work, why don't you help me get this room cleaned up."

He chuckles, giving her a side-glance, before breaking the awkward moment and gathering the packaging and stuffing it inside the now empty ceiling fan box.

It's near lunch when they've got everything cleared, and he's put back on his shirt and returned the ladder to her apartment manager.

"You want to order in and stay for a movie?"

He's never wished more for all interpretations of the words 'Netflix and Chill' in his entire life. He settles for the literal version, and while sharing penne and antipasto with wine they decide on _Groundhog Day._ Which seems fitting since he feels like they're stuck in a million scenarios in a million different ways where he can never get it quite right. The place where they come out of this limbo they've been circling since the day they met. Save for a night long ago. He goes home alone that day too.

* * *

He arrives at the office earlier these days, trying to stay head to head with Zane. Several days after the ceiling fan installation, he spots her alone in the elevator bay. He times his arrival to sneak in just behind her. She smiles and greets him, says something about his tie meaning he's too on edge. She doesn't adjust it anymore like she used to.

He tempts the elevator to break in his head. As if they're a badly written romance. He does that a lot. Comes up with some ridiculous scenario that might grant him false courage, or at least a sign she wants this too.

He thinks on what a fucking awful idea it might be for someone with panic attacks to wish to be stuck in a tight space.

If he was less of a pussy, he'd fuck all his fears and kiss her like the true aficionado of seduction he knows he can be. Tongue coaxing her lips to speak the song between them, their bodies ending up in the dance all knew but only they could perfect together.

She's watching him from the corner of her eye, eventually turning her head. Studying him. Her fingers find his tricep. Resting there. Brushing against the silk blend and making him aware of passing electrified currents he's trying not to let head to his groin. Her ever-present cleavage of the day isn't helping.

"You okay?" she asks. "You're sweating."

'I'm hot for you' is about the lamest goddamn shit he could come up with as a response, especially after the previous weekend. He nods curtly instead and she frowns.

He thinks on kissing her again. If only he was as bold as she was about ignoring fallouts when he needs an answer.

* * *

One month in and he's had enough. He's not a goddamn psychic. He might as well be trying to read her while wearing a blindfold. His fingers hover over the one name that had more answers than most. _Mike._

"I have three guesses why you're calling, and unless it's for the one that involves you finally paying me for that time I beat you at Texas Holdem, today is not the day." Shuffling papers can be heard on the other end of the line.

Harvey leans back in his chair. "You counted cards. Cheaters don't win."

"I thought you told me winners don't make excuses when the other side decides to play the game."

Harvey smiles, a quiet falling over the line. "I'm not calling for why you think."

"I can't help you with my father-in-law this time, Harvey." Regret is in Mike's voice.

"I know. It's not about him. It's about...Donna."

"Is everything okay?" Mike asks worriedly.

"She's fine. Great even. It's not about how she's doing."

"Okay..."

"I need to know why you thought she might have feelings for me."

"That situation is one I need to stay even more out of." There's an obvious dissociation in Mike's response.

"Come on Mike. You need to give me something."

Mike is silent then does an exaggerated sigh. "Did something happen? I mean I saw the two of you at the wedding…"

"No. But you've always wanted us to, right? I can't feel her out, and if I don't soon, I'm might miss the chance to."

It takes a long time for Mike to respond, and if Harvey didn't recognize how stunned he probably is, he might have thought the line was dead. "I can't tell you anything specific. But Rachel said something that made me think I needed to talk with her."

"And?"

"Donna denied it. But…"

"What?" Harvey pleaded.

"I wasn't sure I believed her. And you know what happened after that."

He hangs up with Mike, leaning back and scrubbing his face.

With every other area of his life, save for maybe his mother, he'd confront it head-on. Wouldn't care if the stakes were off the charts. Risking her, risking them had never been worth the possible loss. Would it ever be?

* * *

She's waiting in front of his desk when he arrives one morning. All purpose and poise with a certain mysterious distance behind her eyes. Her legs are crossed, the glimpse of neverending leg just peeking out of the slit of her dress.

His gaze feigns messages on his desk but he has a hard time not ping-ponging back to her bare skin like she's serving aces. She asks if he's okay and he fumbles some response about a client he's sure she knows is bullshit. She always snoops the messages and he hasn't even read them yet.

"I'm going to have to miss dinner Friday," she says with no effect in her voice.

"Oh? Everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm just meeting with a friend."

A _friend_. Male or Female? But he has no right to ask. It's then he realizes how all these years, they'd had no rights to anything between them. Like two fucking fish in the sea. Swimming side by side in the same waters when one could swim away at any time and be on the other side of the world without more than a passing goodbye. The realization of how fleeting _just_ friendship could be scares the shit out of him.

* * *

He finds the answer to what's bothering him after she's left on Friday. Robert calls him to his office. When he's walking up Samantha Wheeler is making a hamfisted comment about Donna causing a partner meeting to be delayed for a date.

The two comments spin in his mind, and he's not sure how to slow himself to stop on the right one. "We didn't have a partner meeting."

"We will now," Robert states with authority.

Despite her rod-straight stature, he sees Samantha shrink from the room.

"I don't know what you're planning, Robert, but you can't just schedule—"

"The meeting is to say I can. We'll do it Monday since your cohort isn't here."

Losing his night with Donna to a date tears at his gut. This rips it wide open and a shaky fight tries for bravado. "This is my firm, and I'm not going to let you take it."

"I already have."

Everything drains out of him. Like he's picked up and thrown back a couple of years- Groundhog Day style -only this time without a support system holding him up. He needs her. Wants her comfort above all else.

Of course he waited a moment too late. She's not there. She'd said she had to leave early. But withheld the fact it's for a date. There's a reason she couldn't say it. He's not letting her get away as easily as he had.

* * *

He heads straight for her apartment, begging any higher entity that'll listen to an asshole that she won't have left yet.

When she opens the door he's stunned for a moment. Burgandy gown, cut in a V down her front with sleeveless straps leaving the edge of her shoulders bare. Her hair is styled and make-up more dramatic than usual.

For her date.

He feels dizzy like he's lost oxygen. He hasn't spoken.

"Harvey? Is everything okay?"

"I…" He doesn't want to tell her here, like this. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, I have a few minutes. Do you need water?"

He doesn't feel like he does but it sounds smart, just in case the slight panic inside is turning to more. "Maybe."

She disappears into the kitchen and he rests against the back of her couch. He stares ahead with a blurry focus, pulling in breaths and drawing out. A glass appears in front of him and he shifts his eyes to her while gulping down.

"What happened?" she asks so softly he could sink into it.

"Zane has the votes. It's over."

She shakes her head. "What? No, we could talk to partners and try and shift their decision."

"No. The votes first thing Monday morning. It's done." His hand runs over his face.

A little over a year ago, she'd told him they weren't his only family. But they were his life. Jessica, Mike, Rachel, her, and even Louis. They're dropping one by one and even what defined him as a lawyer has slipped away. He wonders if he's on some kind of ladder rung of bad luck.

Her looking like his salary for the year for a date isn't helping his mental demise. He's lost, he's too late, and has no goddamn clue how to get back on path.

She takes a step into the open space between his legs, and then another. Her palm finds his cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing there. "I'm so sorry, Harvey."

His mouth bends down because she's hurting for him. And then she wraps his upper body in her arms. His lowered height from resting against her couch puts his face almost level with her neck. He buries himself there, cheek against her skin and hot breath bouncing off her collarbone and back at him. She cradles his head, brushing against the precision-cut hairs in the back.

All thoughts begin to fade like touching her is the drag of a joint and the sip of the finest drink all at once. She's meditative and he's still under the control of her existence. There's so much layered between them that wants to burst out.

She's pulling away and leans down, pressing her lips to his cheek and tenderly brushing the other side with her thumb once more.

Emotions are slamming into his gut, kicking their way to force themselves free. He can't hold it in anymore. He turns his mouth to take her lips. She freezes, face tilted down to his. He pulls in a breath and parts them the slightest, mouth tugging gently on her lower lip. He feels hers move, like a spark to ignition. He plants his feet and raises up, hand finding the back of her head and maneuvering for them to fit together the way he craves them to be. She responds fully now, taking turns sucking lips before her mouth parts fully and she groans when their tongues meet.

In a flash he feels cool air between them. She's pulling away.

"Donna—"

"What were you thinking?"

He's not apologizing for this. "I needed to know some things too."

"No. We went over this. You said it didn't mean anything, and I told you it didn't either."

"I don't think you were being honest."

"I'm not a liar," she warns.

He swallows, his voice careful. "Well, I think this time you did."

Her arms flap at her sides. "This is because I have a date. You don't want to share me so you're panicking."

He takes a step closer. "No."

"You've never wanted to me to be available to anyone other than you."

"This is more than that. Have you noticed how much time we've been spending together?"

"That was about Mike and Rachel. And you keeping managing partner."

"Only on the surface."

She stands there. Chest heaving. "Then why, Harvey? I'm so goddamn exhausted of this stunted relationship between us getting in the way of everything. We need to settle it once and for all."

He can't hold it anymore. Like the kiss, it's all spilling out. This little sliver of a truth, burning his insides he'd hardened with walls to pretend he didn't feel it. "I think I'm in love with you." He's staring at her, a bit stunned at the words himself.

She blinks, eyes wide, jaw wavering before she sets her lips. "And what? Is this where you walk away?"

He closes his eyes. "That's not fair."

"I was supposed to leave for my date five minutes ago. Is springing this one me now out of nowhere fair?"

"It hasn't been out of nowhere. I've been hinting for weeks."

"In code? Because I sure as hell didn't see it."

"Did you want to?" he challenges.

"Fuck you, Harvey!" She spins around and grabs her purse from behind her. "I have to go."

"You're really going to walk out that door?"

"Yes. Because I had plans. I'm sorry you lost managing partner. But I can't stay."

His jaw tenses as she walks to her entryway. He follows, the tight glare aching every muscle in his face. Subconscious fear and reality have collided, forming him whole only to rip him again limb from limb. He'd put out into the universe what he wanted, and his fears jumped in the way and stole fate.

"Goodbye, Harvey."

He shakes his head, stepping over the threshold. He stares at her once more, wondering if he could turn back time if there was a step that could ever make a version of them turn out right. "Please, Donna. Go to your date if you have to. Just don't... do anything that… messes things up between us."

The door is shut without an answer or a promise.

* * *

 _A/N's: I know this was stylistically a little different than I usually write, but I wanted to make sure I could finish this before the season airs. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 should be up in the next day or so._

 _I always appreciate the reviews and feedback so much. Besides the love of writing and these characters, the love of interaction with fellow fans is the top reason I do this. So please let me know how you felt about this._

 _This is dedicated to my BBAF(Beta Buddy Amazing Friend) Bew0G who begged me to write a season 8 fic with some_ angst, _and always supports me in her sometimes intimidating methods_ :P . _Thanks to her and my other friends who don't let me throw in the towel and hate myself on this writing thing on a regular basis._


	2. Part 2

**_Donna_**

Spite and terror are resting on Donna's shoulders. One wants her date to be a complete disaster so she has time to stop this overactive race in her pulse, and the other wants him to be the perfect specimen for her lose herself in sleeping with that night. Calm the storm crashing her in every direction, causing a dizzied panic.

Rage seems an odd reaction to an 'I _think_ I love you'. But logic hadn't met a nearly fourteen-year ambiguous relationship told in subtext, and undone it by half-attempted declarations.

As luck would have it, her date is like landing on all 7's. A jackpot.

She'd known Brian something-or-another— because at this point her brain doesn't care —from him having been a regular at her previous yoga studio. He happened to be a client of Samantha Wheeler's.

He's ticking all the major clichéd best traits. Attractive, fit, humorous, a gentleman, intelligent but not to the point of mansplaining. Intuition tells her he could be good for her. Better for her than she'd ever allowed herself to have. She'd happily accept a second date or even extend this one. He's smiling and giving her looks that should be having her heart freefall.

But the only thing she needs him to be, he isn't. And that one thing dismantles this anomaly of a perfect date.

 _He's not Harvey._

She hates the man that's destroying this moment. He'd all but taken every single relationship from her since they'd met, and never offered more than vague deflections about how they weren't that way. And now, when they're the closest they've ever been, and she'd forced thinking of them _in that way_ is the furthest from her thoughts, he _thinks_ he's in love with her.

Like he couldn't fully commit, just to make sure he gives himself the exit card. She's analyzed, and knows he's always been his way. Whenever she pulls away or finds someone else. Ups his flirting. Finds some late nights. Needs her in a way that's more than professional.

Now it's because of Mike leaving. And Zane. And kisses and words he could blame on confusion by way of a wording technicality.

She's had enough. Of them. Of being _different_ , _normal_ , and _only okay_. Of hiding behind not quite feelings. Of not confronting the situation with the exasperation it merits.

She's pounding on his door. Fury filled over her collapsed date and his ill-timed lips.

His door swings open and his eyes are wide. "Don—"

Before he can finish her name she lunges for him, hands pulling him down and lips sealing to his. A throwback to the last time she'd done this, but with more purpose and definitely less care.

He's been drinking. The harsh taste of scotch informs her tongue, and she'd question his state for this if not for his assured haste to reciprocate.

He pulls back suddenly, brow furrowed.

"Goddamn you, Harvey." She leaves no time for response. Her mouth follows her words to continue her attack, not allowing space for half-truths.

In or out. His only two options. Her open lips challenge him, sucking his bottom one between hers.

Apparently, he didn't need almost confessions to stay _in_ because he's heightening his response. Spinning her around and controlling steps back toward his bedroom. Her back hits the kitchen countertop and he lifts her there, setting her on the surface. His body forces her thighs to part, her center hitting his arousal when he jerks her forward.

Eyes scan her face, a wrinkle between his brow but she answers his unspoken questions by taking a handful of his T-shirt and yanking him to her. Her tongue invades his mouth, tempting his forward, sucking it toward her own. He lets out a muffled groan, his hands not seeming to know where to start. Her face, her neck, wrapping around her sides.

She's shocked him, challenging him to be the man he'd been for everyone else but her. He keeps trying to slow them down, moving to her neck, kisses more searching for her hidden answers. She won't let him. She's pressing his head to her, hand sinking under his waistband until sounds muffle between their joined mouths from her control.

Gentle isn't what she wants. There's a frenzy inside her. One she isn't sure is fair but she can't seem to turn around from. She's daring him, she's not even sure with what. To reject her, to use her, to prove to both of them this path would forever ruin them in the end. To show him he can't really want her the way he's always wanted everyone else.

Suddenly he's ripping away, fingers wrapped around her forearm, stopping her hand. "Donna. Maybe we should slow things down."

Her bottom lip is hanging, and she's not even sure how it got that way. It's manifesting the tremble building inside her, face burning. Every single fear rationalized in real time between them. Mortifyingly. With her hand around him. She closes her lips to steel herself, disentangling and hopping off the counter, standing taller to walk away.

"What are you...Where are you going?"

"You don't want this. You ruined my date. I'm going home to drink a bottle of wine." Or _three._

He catches her wrist. "You're the one that walked out on me."

"Because I was waiting for history to repeat itself!" Her hands are moving erratically but she can't seem to even herself. She curses him even more for that. "Like it just did."

He takes her hands in his, and she leaves them there with reluctance. "I'm not rejecting you, Donna."

She's avoiding looking in his eyes. Only now taking note of her surroundings. He's shed his coat and tie, top buttons free. Then she sees how the warm shadows of the fireplace dance on his ceiling.

A hand finds her face, fingers resting on her neck, jaw, cheek. She closes her eyes. His thumb brushes so lightly she could be convinced it's proof he's telling the truth.

"You're not the only one scared, you know."

"And I'm not the only one holding back," she says in defiance.

"What?" His hand falls away.

"I _think_ I'm in love with you? And kissing me like you only half mean it."

His jaw firms and he stands up straighter. She's got to him then. "Donna—"

"You've wanted all the rest all these years but not me. And it shows."

"I've always wanted you." His voice is so deep and emotional she feels it twist her stomach. "You're the one that set the rules. And I've turned myself inside out trying to follow them."

"Then show it. Treat me like anyone else, and stop acting like you're either too afraid or don't really mean it."

His lips press together and he searches her, a flick of his eyes over her face. Still in a war with trying to ask for permission. Maybe weighing if she's worth the fight. She's about to bolt when he jerks her waist forward and lips take her, hands mastering the slant of her head for his full exploration. Greedy and smooth, somewhere between dominant deals and erotic dance. Tongue coaxing sounds out of her mouth she has no control over. Soul slipping down, gravity-rich into an abyss he rules.

He backs her quickly toward his bedroom this time, so much so she's terrified of falling if not for the hands splayed possessively on her spine. He stops just inside, mouth taking time to explore every inch of bare flesh exposed by her neckline. She's suffocating with want. How reckless did she have to be to taunt him into a game of seduction? To trust a man previously incapable, to focus on her long enough to catch a fall?

His fingers attempt to separate her neckline, but the fabric is too stubborn to comply. He spins her around, taking her breath. Mouth teasing while he draws down her zipper. She turns back, crossing her arms to help the fabric slip off her shoulders and to the floor. He's still. Only a slight move of his jaw angle and a rise and fall of his chest as he fully takes her in. His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them. Dizziness is plucking her up and dropping her at his will.

He moves to the buttons of his shirt, which her uncharacteristically shaky hands assist with. He loses his pants next, and before she can take him in he's kissing her again. Open and deep. First mouth, then corner of lips, then jaw and lower.

Arms are wrapped around her back, palms skating bare skin. He unhooks her bra. Fingertips slipping under lace in the front. Instead of pulling it off, he uses the looser itchy fabric to brush over her hardened nipple. Heat from his thumb and kneading the roughness over the rest tantalize her. He pulls it away from her body, discarding it like it's useless. Then he's crouching down. He hooks her knees and spreads her thighs around his waist.

They lose themselves. Skin to skin. Baring all physical between them. Fear has no chance to protest met with the rush of his hips. Perhaps they could last without time to catch thoughtful breaths. There's no complication in his seeking her demise. Her body gives her no choice but to bend to the consummation of want.

His lips seek her, over available and flushed skin. Taking her, in the way she'd tried to avoid by convincing him his gentleness with her is somehow a flaw. Lips soft, hips hard. Each connection plunging her toward more than release.

He keeps looking to her. Her name falling off his lips. Fingers finding hair or skin to brush. Emotion and intensity he's released like she's beaten a further level on the challenge of Harvey. The considerate lover that he is, his hand tries to help her along. She blocks him.

"Later. I just...want to feel this." Reality is removed and it's just them, and she has no clue what's real beyond feeling right tonight. And she wants to hold onto every second. Not slow down. Not chase a climax that may come on its own.

He complies, his palms finding another home under her buttocks. And their names slip into the air with uncontrolled pants is all that surrounds them.

He finishes before her and somehow it's right. She didn't need a release from him, she needed an implausible fantasy fulfilled.

In an instant, he's disappearing from above her. A panic beats at her chest, but then his face is between her thighs. He steals any decency she's holding back in an embarrassing number of seconds. She's fully lost.

He spoons her against him that night as if his arms are locking her from running away. Face buried in the crook of her neck. He whispers, "You're never going to be like anyone else for me."

She crumbles into him. Then falls asleep with an ache of dread.

* * *

They're together most nights in the coming weeks. Always at his place. Always in a similar way to the first time. They talk less, make love more. And he still holds onto her like he's afraid if he lets go she'll disappear.

She feels almost like they've bent time. Thrown themselves back to their earlier versions of that night so many years ago where the theater enthusiast from Cortland put on her best show of confidence for the cocky and over-attractive lawyer way beyond the experience she wore. The younger version of her could turn him down with practiced indifference. Somehow years and loyalty had made that version of herself almost risk all.

They don't do late nights at the office anymore. Somehow in the search for more, they gained sex but lost friendship. She has more of him but misses all the rest.

Robert Zane takes Harvey's office. The managing partner's office. It creates an even more painful distance. Familiar, but like stepping into your old home with all your belongings and a different family.

He smiles more now. Maybe not as widely as she knows he could. He's picked up hints of intuition from her over the years. Which is maybe why he's blocking out the chasm sex has created between them. He's got experience ignoring issues he doesn't want to confront.

She trips one day coming in from his balcony. Nearly falls on her face. In front of him. Of course, so he can tease her mercilessly.

Except instead he rushes to her, kneeling at her side. "You okay?" Alarm is ringing in his voice.

"I'm…" She's startled. By him. By the pain in her ankle and body.

"I'm calling an ambulance." He pulls out his phone and the brightness of his screen highlights wide eyes.

Her hand catches his wrist and stops him. "An ambulance? I'm over forty, not eighty. I'll be fine." She huffs out a laugh, abbreviated by pain.

"Well, let me look at you at least."

He cradles her skin as if she's precious, studying bruises forming on her knee and heel of her palms from where she caught herself. Her ankle is swelling and changing colors too. He leaves and puts a bunch of supplies by the couch, then returns to her.

Firm arms lift her into the air, bridal style before she even has the chance to realize he's done it. "Harvey! You're going to mess up your back and then we'll both be injured."

"You know you never give me enough credit." He deposits her sideways on his couch, then lifts her legs to sit and rest them on his lap. He wraps a towel around her ankle, checks with her on placement while applying ice. He holds it in place with an ace bandage. "You're lucky you weren't in those goddamn heels."

"I thought you liked me in those goddamn heels." She bends her head, raising a brow, teasing him with wide and challenging eyes.

His lip corners pull in, barely covering a smirk. He gently cleans a scratch on her knee, bandaging her up.

When he's finished, he pulls her onto his lap, staring at her palms. Finally applying a kiss to each slowly. "I'm taking you in." He says with a seriousness.

She smiles, in spite of herself. "You're acting like I'm five. Why are you so worried?"

"How can you ask me that?" He hand smooths down her hair, and he almost sounds hurt.

"It's all going to heal, Harvey. Except my ego at showing up to the office in a $4000 dress like this without matching shoes."

"When are you going to figure out how important you are to me?" He kisses her, not much more than a peck but she still feels her stomach drop. He smiles. "You've always been. We just didn't say it."

Her heart plunges, and keeps plunging. Deeper than any physical place she can name. Maybe somewhere where it's going to be impossible to dig deep enough to easily free herself if what they're doing makes her break.

* * *

She stands in his office doorway, sass ready, body curved while watching him work.

He notices. "Now there's a sight I miss more than anything."

"Minus this, you mean?" She shakes her ankle brace in front of her.

"I like you even better this way. You're less threatening." He gives her a lazy smile.

"I haven't used my position over you once," she protests, hobbling in and sitting in front of his desk.

"Your power over me is another story." They lock eyes, much left unspoken. "You doing my other superior's bidding now?"

"You know I wouldn't do that. He does too."

He stares hard at her. "You don't look like you're down here for an office quickie. So what, Donna?"

Her foot bounces above her crossed leg. "I volunteered to deliver the news, in case you might want me to cheer you up."

"Really. What's the news?"

She sighs. "Zane chose you to go to a conference in Dallas next week for four days."

His eyes go wide. "What?"

"Harvey." It's between a plead and a warning, because she knows he can blow this up with the unsteady ground between him and his new boss.

He groans. "You know what? It's fine. I'm taking you with me. We can go out in the evenings, you can explore the city—"

She shakes her head. "I have to work. Zane has me reorganizing—"

"Then I'm going to change that." He stands, marching through his office.

"Harvey."

He spins around, pointing to the ground. "He owes me!"

"And no one knows about us," she reminds him quietly.

His chest is rising and falling.

"Why are you so upset?"

"Because, Donna. I don't…" He lets out a rush of air.

She stands and walks over to him. Having to be apart isn't ideal, and travel could be a pain for someone as routined as he is, but she can't track what's behind all of this. It makes her wonder what else them being apart lately has made her miss. "It's just a few days. I'll be here when you get back." She lets fingers brush down his forearm, watching out windows carefully.

"You're not changing your mind while I'm gone?" He's watching her, fixed interest.

About them? Her chest pinches. "Why would you say that?"

"Nothing." He looks away, returning with a forced smile. "Promise you'll help me be able to last without you?"

She angles her head. "Is this your way of asking for me to suck you off before you go?"

His grin gets a little wider. "Sexting? Skype calls?"

"I'll give you my best."

He bites his lip. "I want to kiss you right now."

Her eyes shift. "Nothing at the office. We went over this."

"I know. I just wanted you to know it."

Her heart picks up every time she thinks of him that day.

* * *

They're both at his place a couple nights later like their normal routine, and she's at his mirror removing an earring, leaning against the counter.

He comes up from behind and loops his arms around her waist, chin resting on her opposite shoulder. "Can we stay at your place tomorrow night?"

"Why?" she asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

He disentangles from her. "They're painting tomorrow. I wanted to give the place a chance to air out."

She doesn't respond right away, focusing on removing make-up instead. She finally answers, shifting directions. "Maybe we could get a hotel."

She sees his body harden through the mirror. "I'm going to be at a hotel all next week."

"I'm not. I just thought it would be nice. Room service. Someone to clean afterward."

He's silent, watching her through the mirror, his posture slack. "You know what? Don't bother. I'll find something on my own."

"Harvey—"

"No, don't." His face is harsh.

Her shoulders drop. "No. You're angry with me, and I deserve to know."

"You deserve to know?" He takes a measured step toward her. "You realize we haven't spent one night at your place?"

She doesn't meet his eyes. "I hadn't thought about it."

"Well, I don't believe you."

"What?"

"I don't even know how you feel about me. Because you haven't told me." He has stalked towards her, only a foot apart. Accusation in the tight set of his shoulders.

She stands her ground. "Well, if you remember correctly, you haven't said more than that _sort of_ the first time."

"I say it every goddamn day, Donna. You just don't want to hear it." He daggers his words, harsh and targeted with ever syllable.

"Like you said you wanted to be with me and expected me to know? Because I didn't get that memo either."

"Why should I say it? When you've been searching for the first reason you can find for us to fail."

"Because I'm terrified we are!" She throws her arms at her sides.

His breaths are coming in purposed and deep. His anger isn't unfamiliar to her, but unfamiliar to their relationship shift.

"I can't even spend the night at your apartment?" His question is so bitter, she almost flinches.

She backtracks, sensing she's losing a battle she'd always wanted to avoid. "We should just—"

"No. You know, maybe the reason you haven't been able to say it yet, is because you don't."

"Harvey," she pleads, fear coiling.

He's not looking at her. "Maybe we should spend tonight apart too."

She lets Ray drive her home, knowing Harvey's right about her holding back. A part of her is waiting for it all to fade away like the curtain call on the final show of a favorite play she was cast in. She's playing the part she'd always wanted. But every show has its run.

* * *

He doesn't call her that night, or the morning after either. They don't interact at work, because suddenly their paths aren't so mandatory to intersect anymore. She checks his schedule. He's swamped with clients. Probably catching up on meetings before he has to leave town.

There's a voicemail on her phone when she exits the shower that night. Her legs are shaky when she sees his name. She lowers to her bed.

 _Hey Don'_

He's been drinking.

 _I'm sorry about last night. You were right. I haven't said it. But I do...I'm... in love with you. I know it now. I should have said it. It's not...easy for me. To say. Especially... because I don't feel like you're happy. And selfishly, I thought maybe you could be if I made it right enough. But you're not, so..._

He takes a breath on the line.

 _Maybe we're not what I thought we could be. Because ultimately? I want you to be happy, Donna. More than I want to force you to make me that way. I'm gonna go. We should... talk before I have to leave next week. I'm heading to bed. I'm beat. I… Bye._

And the message is over. She drops her phone next to her, falling back. Breaths come in faster than she can fully push them out. Her chest tightens to brace herself for it, and burning spreads to her chest and sinuses.

This felt like his life replaying itself. Wait until he feels like it's too late to pour his heart out. She wants to run to him, get lost in the way he can make them travel to alternate times and worlds where they're making it together.

But she doesn't know where he is, because she was too fucking afraid to let him in. For a reason she can't now fully comprehend.

* * *

She has a grief hangover the next morning. Pounding headache, her stomach in knots.

Of course, it's the day she made early lunch plans with an old friend from the DA's office.

Kristin is still super into fitness. Perky and bleached even though she's also pushing forty. She's friendly though, and they've had chats and drinks on occasion over the years.

Donna's only half-listening as she picks at some unnamable salad.

"You'll never guess who called me last night. A partner from your firm!" Kristin says basically everything with excitement.

But this time, Donna's head shoots up. "Who?"

"That old ADA you used to work with. Harvey Specter."

Her skin grows cold. She's afraid of the coming answer. "Why?"

"Something about being lonely. I think he was drinking. Is he seeing anyone?"

"I...I'm not sure."

"Well, anyway he saw my name on the list for the conference next week in Dallas, and so he looked me up. We've got together a few times over the years. And between you and me, he's great in the sa—"

"I have to go." Donna shoots up in her chair.

"Is everything okay? You look awful."

"I'm not feeling well."

"Can I help?" Kristin stands, holding her phone. "I could call a boyfriend."

"No. I'm just going to call the office and go home." The excuse is for Kristin's benefit, but at this point, she thinks she might vomit before she can make it to a cab.

* * *

She barely manages the steps into her room. She slips along the side of her bed to the floor. And then the pain begins to pour out of her in a cluster of sobs. Shredding through her. Maybe crying is the process of digging everything out inside, leaving behind the ache of completely hallowing you out. When it's finished, scars heal and fade to numbness. Only when she's done she's only begun the first few hundred scrapes. Fresh and foreign pain, her body only adjusting to what will come if she fully loses him.

He hadn't slept with Kristin recently, that much is obvious. But in his state, he was fishing for someone to. And it hits her how easily this can all slip away and he could be in the arms of someone else again. In their bed, doing the things she thought were theirs and special for her with someone else.

She doesn't want him to. Everything she's ever felt for him hits, clearly. HD film, where they're starring and she's missed the point of the plot altogether.

The ache inside has dulled but is still constant. Failure now means a complete reset of her life. She sees the corner of a wooden box just under her bed. If she's going to lose anyway, there's no way she's doing it without giving this her all first.

* * *

She leaves him a message on his voicemail, asking him to meet her at her apartment, mentioning it's important.

He arrives in less than two hours. He's rough for wear. Tie off center. A cut from shaving. Suit less than pressed. Sunken eyes with extra deep wrinkles.

She reaches for him out of reflex, but he pulls back, face pained and avoiding.

Her chest constricts, still raw from the last 48 hours. She feels the effects in her eyes, like blood spilling through tears. "Are you here to end things?"

"I can never let you go. But I will. If you're unhappy." Fight is gone behind his words. Only anguish and the remnants of his softness for her remain.

She forces him to let her grab his fingers. She squeezes them, tugging until he meets her eyes. There's so much pain it nearly crushes her. She doesn't know why she couldn't see him before.

"I'm not. I want to show you something." She leads him to her couch and they sit. She hands him the wooden box next to her, not much larger than a shoe box. "This is what's under my bed."

His brow is scrunched together. "Am I supposed to open it, or…"

"Yes, you idiot." The word has never held so much affection.

He does a slight smile and removes the lid.

The mixture of papers, notebooks, photos, and trinkets are an obvious mystery to him.

She reaches over and digs into the box and pulls out a paperclipped pile of receipts, selecting one. "This is from the first handbag you bought me."

His brow raises.

"And this," she pulls out another one, "Is from that time we went to that pub to watch your father play."

"Santiago's?" His head tilts, staring at it between his fingers.

"Yes."

His eyes grow wide, humor behind his lips. "Do you have receipts for all the shit I've done with you over the years in here?"

She swallows, then takes a deeper breath. "Yes." She waves her hand, as he's flipping through the first notebook. "And photos. Notes."

"Donna, this is like a goddamn diary of details about me."

She clears her throat. "Yes. How do you think I do all my Donna shit?"

He shakes his head, chuckling. "You seem to claim intuition."

"That part is true. But I like to be a detective sometimes and a private eye needs their details. Plus, I'm sentimental I guess."

He's scanning through it, a slight smile on his lips.

The pages contain intimate details of words and gestures stretched out over years. It's more personal than she ever thought she'd allow him. Her breaths are shaky and hard to tame.

He eventually puts down the notebook and pulls out a photo, one of the time he forced her to go with him to a Harvard luncheon. And then he's looking at the receipt on top of the stack. There's a long pause while he stares at it. "Whipped cream?" He ticks his head to the side. "Strawberries."

She bites her lip.

"This is why you didn't want me seeing under your bed? A box you could have explained away?"

"Well, it's not the only one. It's sort of my little secret. I don't like people knowing something of me is disordered."

"Labeled, individual boxes under your bed is disordered?"

"Well, and it's also...immature. I'm not fourteen anymore but...maybe after losing everything so young, I didn't want to let things go so easily."

"So you have lots of these? Of who else?"

"Friends. And just a few. Not lots. Yours is the biggest."

"If I had a nickel for everytime a woman said that to me…"

She smacks his chest with the back of her hand. His big grin is back.

His face grows more serious. He lays his palm over the top, staring at it before finally looking at her. "You're showing this to me because you want to open up to me?"

She pulls in a long breath, hoping for enough courage for the culmination of why she asked him here. "You're the best friend I've ever had in my entire life." She feels the slight burn from emotion returning by way of her eyes.

"You're mine too," he says gently.

She breathes again, swallowing. "And I hurt you because I didn't say I love you. But the thing is...I don't know where _I love you_ and _I'm in love with you_ separate and collide. Or when either started. But they're both true." A tear slips down.

His thumb catches it, leaning into her. "Donna—"

"I know you called Kristin last night," she blurts out, needing him to hear it before anything goes further.

His head pulls back and eyes close. "God. That was—"

Her hand flattens between them. "I know. I just want to say that if you want me to be happy, I need you to never do something like that again."

He nods. "Done."

"And in full disclosure, I also have another box I keep under my bed."

His brow darts up.

"But I don't think we'll be needing it. Yet." She smiles at him, and it's a real one. Maybe the first real one she's had in a long time.

He's leaning in, lips ready to take hers.

"But I might need it when you're gone next week."

He smirks, catching her lips. "No, you won't. You're coming with me."

"I already said—"

"I talked to Zane. Said it might be a good experience for our COO since she's new to this part of the law world."

She shakes her head. "You're impossible."

"You know I can't survive without my favorite sidekick."

"I think we both know you're more like my sidekick at this point."

"That's negotiable. But I can live with it as long as you're next to me at work and...play."

"I think we just arranged that."

* * *

When they make love this time, all the pieces she's been holding back that felt like they would never fit, finally slip into place. She's reveling in the harmony of them together, deep staggered breaths of pleasure and emotion peeling away layers so deep that with each exhale they almost hurt. They're in symbiosis, like the finely timed push and pull they'd practiced for years in order to perfect. In tune with their bodies and each other. When they fall together in bliss, they're both smiling, letting go. The last part of the puzzle was her _more._

* * *

He has her on speaker when he's calling Mike. He answers.

"I was calling to give you my new address," Harvey says.

"You… What?" The stun in Mike's voice almost makes her giggle.

"Is Rachel there with you?" Harvey asks.

"Yeah."

"Put her on, too."

"Okay." Michael sounds unsure but calls her over and it switches to speaker.

"Hello?"

"Rachel. I was giving Mike my change of address and Donna had one too. We're multitasking." Donna rolls her eyes and shakes her head at his ridiculousness.

"Are you?" Mike asks, short for words.

"Oh my god!" Rachel is practically squealing. "Are you two moving in together?"

"Donna needed more storage space." She shoves him, nearly knocking him over.

"It's true," Donna admits. "We're getting a place."

"I don't understand. When did this happen?" Mike asks.

"And why are we just now hearing about it?" Rachel chides.

Harvey meets her eyes, more behind them than she can still comprehend.

"I move quickly," Harvey teases, she's almost sure to get a roll of her eyes. "And we've been a little preoccupied."

"I'm sure I can guess where your focus has been," Mike throws back, and Donna can hear Rachel scolding his name.

"Only where it always has been." Harvey grabs her hand.

"Just a little more intensely," Donna says, leaning in to plant a kiss.

* * *

 _A/N's: Okay, first off, I want to thank everyone so much for the reviews, tweets, and messages. You all are seriously incredible. I had a rough week and this was my distraction and you made me feel loved too! From the anonymous ones, to the ones where you explained in depth what you felt, I treasure you! I also wanted to give credit to Spectographer for reminding me Harvey needed to be shirtless in Part 1 :P, and to Bew0G for the title idea!_

 _About the story. I know this was more angsty, but in my mind Donna had been pushing away, while he was finally pulling closer. So it took her longer to let go. I hope I managed to pull that off emotionally. I'd so appreciate reviews to let me know what you think! It's my favorite part of sharing my writing._

 _Finally, thank you to Bew0G for inspiring me to write this, even through my protests. She is a constant encouragement and keeps me much more prolific than I would be otherwise. And a amazing friend on top of that. Hope you enjoy your writing gift. ~Blue_


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